


Date Me, I Dare You

by NephilimEQ



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Complete, Derek Hale is a Softie, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fanart, Fluff, M/M, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Scott McCall is a Bad Friend, Tumblr Prompt, fake dating au, sterek, sterek au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:27:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21997495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NephilimEQ/pseuds/NephilimEQ
Summary: While drunk, Stiles is dared in a game of Truth or Dare by his friends to ask the hot bartender, Derek, out on a date. The problem? Stiles has a crush on him. And Derek says no to everyone who has ever asked him on date. Cue the violins.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 40
Kudos: 1149





	Date Me, I Dare You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EvanesDust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvanesDust/gifts).



** Date Me, I Dare You **

Stiles swallowed as he approached the guy bartending the bar, glancing furtively over his shoulder, making sure that none of his friends were there. It was two in the afternoon, which meant that most of them were still at work, but he wasn’t taking any chances. Scott and Isaac would _totally_ skip work if it meant witnessing Stiles get shot down by the hottest guy that he’d ever laid eyes on.

This whole situation was their fault, after all. They had told him, with no room for him to say no (thank you, air-tight rules of drunk ‘truth or dare’), that he had to ask out Derek The Bartender.

Derek was well-known as the hottest bartender—ah, fuck it, the hottest thing on two legs in at least a hundred-mile radius. Hell, most celebrities weren’t as attractive as Derek, what with his perfectly chiseled jaw, thick, dark hair, perpetually five o’clock shadow that never moved to six o’clock, and eyes that looked like they belonged to a supernatural creature. Oh, and he also had a killer body that looked like it was sculpted by the gods themselves.

…And was known for never saying yes to a single person who had ever asked him out. Which was particularly frustrating for Stiles, because he had a massive crush on the guy.

The guy that was right in front of him and arching one perfect eyebrow at him as Stiles approached.

As if he was in a movie, Derek picked up the rag that he’d been wiping the bar down with and said, “Bar doesn’t open until three,” and turned and bent down—good god—and grabbed a crate of some sort of alcohol and put it up on the bar, pulling one of the bottles out and placing it on the shelf behind the bar.

“Uh, don’t worry, wasn’t going to ask for a drink,” Stiles managed to get out, proud that he hadn’t stuttered. “Uh, actually, I was…I was wondering if, uh, actually, when do you…when do you get off? Off of work,” he quickly corrected, realizing how it sounded. “When do you get off of work, that’s what I was asking…”

Derek’s other eyebrow shot up.

“I don’t date customers,” he said, as if knowing exactly what Stiles was going to ask.

Feeling annoyed and frustrated at his friends for putting him in this position, Stiles gave up his hand, hoping to convince him otherwise.

“Look, I know you don’t, but maybe we can work out a mutually beneficial relationship, here,” he quickly shot out, running a hand through his hair as he spoke. “My friends dared me to ask you out, and, I know it sounds juvenile, but the only reason why they did it is because they know I have a thing for you and they know that you never say yes to anybody, and my friends are dicks who get a kick out of seeing me get shot down, and I’m thinking if you just pretend to date me, they might shut up about it and--”

“Okay.”

Stiles stilled, his hand pausing as well, and he knew that he must look like an idiot, his mouth gaping, one hand still in his hair, one elbow up at an awkward angle as he said, incredulous, “Wait…what? Did…did you just say that…?”

“I’ll date you,” Derek repeated, stopping putting the drinks on the shelf as he turned to face him. “You’re right, your friends sound like dicks and I don’t like it when people try to use other people to prove a point. Give me your address,” he grabbed a piece of paper and pen from behind the bar, “And I’ll pick you up at five. Wear something nice, but casual.”

Even when saying yes to a date, Derek sounded cool and calculating. Pleased he wasn’t being humiliated, but disappointed in how he’d said yes, Stiles wrote down his address…and his number.

“Uh, just…text me when you get there,” he said, still feeling off balance at Derek actually saying yes to the date. Not his dream date, but, hell, if it meant he’d get an entire evening alone with the guy, who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Derek nodded.

“Okay. See you at five, Stiles.”

He went back to putting bottles away and Stiles walked out of the bar feeling slightly better. He’d win the dare, get a date with Mr. Gorgeous Ice King, and then move on with his life. Not exactly ideal, but, again, he could live with it because he knew that it was the best opportunity that he was ever going to get.

As he walked into his apartment and looked through his closet, he felt a small surge of determination. He was going to knock Derek’s socks off.

Quickly, he pulled out his tightest pair of jeans and one of his softest, most flattering henleys, the one that Allison said made him look like he’d just stepped out of a modeling shoot. It was a deep red and fit him in just the right way, and he was going to try his best to warm up the Ice King, and that shirt was the way to do it. He then dug out his one pair of nice boots that, of course, Allison had bought for him, telling him that he needed to update his wardrobe since nearly none of it had changed since college.

He put everything on, pulled down his sport coat, and then grabbed his laptop and went to his couch. He, luckily, worked from home, and it was one of the reasons most of his friends hated him. He had gotten lucky with getting a job right out of college that allowed him to edit documents from home and then send them off to various clients around the world. It paid well, too.

He worked for about an hour and a half, and then both Isaac and Scott came barreling through his front door, the way they always did, immediately heading for his fully stocked, industrial kitchen.

Because of his lucrative income, he had a massive penthouse apartment and a bit of local celebrity with his business, and his friends took full advantage of it.

As Isaac raided his fridge, Scott leaned over the back of the couch, head on his arms, and asked, “So…did you do it?” Stiles didn’t look up, focused on editing the paragraph in front of him. His laptop was suddenly closed, almost on his fingers, and Scott repeated, “Stiles! Did you do it? Did you ask Derek out?”

He glared up at him.

“I was _working_ , you know. Sure, I work from home, dude, but I work longer hours than either of you,” he said, pointing at both of them, and Isaac replied as he drank some milk right from the carton, “Yeah, but you don’t have to deal with a jackass boss like Dresden,” and Stiles rolled his eyes.

“James is a decent guy, you two are just lazy as hell,” and they both pulled a bitch-face on him.

Isaac then said, “So? Did you ask him out?”

Exasperated, Stiles slid his laptop to the couch and stood up and said, “Yes, I asked him out, just like I was dared to,” and Scott smirked and asked, “And was it horrible when he turned you down?” and he and Isaac shared an amused look, which left Stiles wondering why he was still friends with them in the first place.

“Actually, he said yes.”

They both looked at him…and then Scott laughed.

“Yeah, sure he did, Stiles,” he said, reaching over and patting him on the arm and then turned and headed back to the kitchen. “And he also said that he’s been secretly crushing on you for forever, too,” he added, sharing yet _another_ look with Isaac, leaving Stiles feeling even more irritated.

He glanced at his watch…and let out a small sigh of relief when he saw it was almost five. They’d be proven wrong soon enough.

“Fine, don’t believe me, see if I care,” he shot back at them, noting that Isaac seemed confused and just might have be thinking that Stiles was telling them the truth. “I need to go brush my teeth and freshen up, because he’s gonna be here in a few minutes.”

He left the room and went to his bedroom and into his bathroom, where he stared in the mirror at himself.

Okay. One evening to prove them wrong. He could do this…even though it would break his heart when Derek said he would never go on another date with him ever again. He’d already told Stiles that he’d only said yes because he was trying to prove a point, and he could live with that. Maybe.

He brushed his teeth, splashed some water on his face, and then walked back into the main room just in time to hear his buzzer go off at the same time his phone buzzed in his pocket.

He walked over to the door and pressed the button and said, “C’mon up, Derek. It’s the top floor,” and then let go of the button and looked over at Isaac and Scott, who were sitting at the counter, each of them with a bowl full of chocolate cereal and drinking a YooHoo, like they were back in college. Stiles only kept those around because of the two boys downstairs that he occasionally babysat for; they were eight.

A little over a minute later, there was a knock at the door.

Stiles opened it…and just about swallowed his tongue.

Derek stood there wearing dark wash jeans that clung obscenely to his thighs, a dark blue, v-neck sweater, and a dark gray sport coat and new boots. It was like every fantasy that Stiles had ever had in his life and it was standing right there in his doorway. He swallowed and quickly went and grabbed his own sport coat, knowing that asking him in was just asking for trouble, but just as he turned back to Derek, the man had stepped into him and wrapped an arm around his waist.

“Ready to go?” Derek asked, warm and firm against him and Stiles swallowed.

“Uh, yeah, totally,” he replied, trying to brush it off as normal when Derek leaned in and pressed a light kiss to his left temple.

“Good. I’ve got the car downstairs.” He led Stiles back to his own door and said to Isaac and Scott, “Nice to see you guys. Better clear out before we get back, though, unless you want a show,” he added with heavily laced innuendo and a wink, and they left, the door swinging shut behind them, Stiles’ brain shutting down in the process.

As they got into the elevator, Derek said, “Hey, hope you don’t mind me doing that. I figured it was best if they thought it was mutual,” and Stiles just nodded.

“Yeah, yeah, no, it’s, uh…it’s fine.”

Derek smiled at him.

“Good.”

Stiles was suddenly grateful for the handrail in the elevator, because his legs had just about given out from under him at seeing the man smile, which he didn’t know he could do. God _damn._ Okay, so one night would probably kill him, but what a way to go.

When they stepped out of the elevator, Stiles just about drooled at realizing which car was Derek’s.

“You drive a Camaro?” he said, approaching the car with something akin to reverence, one hand lovingly tracing over the passenger’s side mirror. “Why am I not surprised that you drive a Camaro,” he muttered as Derek grinned and nodded and unlocked the car.

As soon as they were in the car and on the road, Derek said, “She’s my girl. And, yes, Stiles, I have had her since high school,” and Stiles turned in his seat and stared at him, wondering how the hell the guy had known that he was going to ask that exact question. He hated thinking that he was predictable, and he hadn’t been around the bar that much to be considered a regular by any means, so he wondered how Derek had expected that question.

Before he could say a word, Derek explained, “Everyone asks. I’m used to it,” and shifted the gears.

Stiles glanced out the window and asked, “So…where are you taking me?” and Derek smirked as he answered, “Romero’s, on sixth,” and, yet again, Stiles nearly swallowed his tongue.

That restaurant was next to _impossible_ to get a reservation at, so how did Derek The Bartender have reservations at one of the nicest restaurants in town? And, also, why was he so underdressed? _Well_ , Stiles mused to himself, _he can probably get away with it because he’s so hot_ , and then looked down at himself. Yeah, he was going to feel incredibly out of place at that restaurant, and so he wondered why Derek had asked him to dress nice-casual.

“Uh, Derek…I’m not exactly dressed for that place,” he said, sinking a bit deeper into his seat.

He chuckled and replied, “You look fine, don’t worry about it. I know the owner, so you’re okay.” He reached across and put a casual hand on Stiles’ thigh, causing his brain to short-circuit. “You look great, Stiles.”

He lost a few more brain cells, but considered the sacrifice was worth it if it meant that Derek would keep touching him. He was completely fine with that.

Instead, he let himself be slightly impressed when Derek pulled up to the front and handed his keys off to a valet who looked a little bit too excited at the chance to drive his car, even if it was just to park it. Stiles couldn’t blame the kid, who looked no more than nineteen.

As soon as they walked in, the hostess came up to them and said, “Sir, right this way. Boyd said that you would be here, this evening, so we have your usual table,” and showed the two of them to a corner booth that was tucked in a more intimate and private section of the restaurant, away from prying eyes, and had Stiles wondering just how well Derek knew the owner. He glanced at Derek, who was glancing over the drink menu, and wondered if he really was just a bartender.

“So…uh, how do you know the owner?” he finally asked, taking a sip of water that had already been poured for them.

Derek shrugged and answered, “He’s an old friend of mine from back home. We’ve known each other since we were kids,” and then leaned forward and took a sip of his own water and glanced around the restaurant, as if he was looking for someone.

Ah. Okay, that made a lot of sense, actually. Feeling a bit more relaxed, he settled back into his seat and said, “So, thanks for saying yes. I mean, after tonight, I can just tell them that you and I tried it out and decided that it wasn’t gonna work out,” he quickly reassured him. “They’ll believe that easy enough.”

Derek gave him a look.

“Your friends seem like jerks.”

Stiles shrugged.

“They’re not, not really. Scott’s been with the same girl since junior year, and Isaac’s ace, so he doesn’t feel any pressure to be in a relationship, and, believe it or not,” he snorted, “This is actually their weird, messed up way of trying to get me to pull my head out of my ass and start dating again.”

Derek chuckled and said, “You’ve got weird friends,” and Stiles snorted a second time and rolled his eyes and exclaimed, “You have _no_ idea, man! They’re the biggest dorks and act like frat boys when they drink too much, hence the reason why I got dared to ask you out in the first place, but they’re actually really great guys. Scott’s been my best friend since we were in diapers, and I’ve known Isaac since freshman year of high school. We were all on the lacrosse team sophomore to senior year.”

Derek looked up at that, his fingers absently tracing along the stem of his water glass and asked, sounding surprised, “You played lacrosse? Where?”

Stiles nodded.

“Beacon Hills, California. Yeah. I know, I know,” he waved him off at his surprised expression, “I don’t look like the physical type, but I was pretty damn fast, so I wasn’t _entirely_ hopeless on the field. Besides, lacrosse was our town’s only claim-to-fame, really. We made it to state, qualified for nationals, but then lost. Not a huge deal, to be honest, but it was fun.”

He then realized that he was talking about himself a bit too much, so he quickly asked, “How about you? Where you from?”

Derek bit his lip, as if he was hesitant to answer, and then confessed, “Beacon Hills, California, actually,” and Stiles looked at him in shock. No _way_ was he from the same place that he was! How the hell had he never noticed someone as hot as him wandering around the streets, or at his high school? Before he could say a word, Derek said, “I went to private school, and then left pretty early on for college, at sixteen. Went to NYU, got a business degree…” He hesitated, and then said, “And decided it wasn’t for me. Took some bartending classes and ended up here. What about you? How’d you end up in New York?”

Stiles shrugged and said, “Well, I decided pretty quickly I wanted to run my own business, and figured out freelancing was the best way to do that, so I took a couple of online courses, worked my _ass_ off, and then got stupidly lucky right out of college and landed some contracts with some businesses in Tokyo and Australia that I do private copy-editing for. Kind of a local celebrity, to be honest,” he admitted, playing with the edge of his water glass.

Derek grinned and remarked, “Ah. I was wondering how you afforded that penthouse,” and Stiles smirked.

“My dad didn’t raise no slacker.”

Derek chuckled and then a very large, intimidating man walked to their table and said in a low voice, “Derek, good to see you here, again. Who is this?”

“Hey, Boyd. Good to be here. This is Stiles,” he introduced and Boyd gave him an approving glance with an odd smirk around the edge of his lips, and then Derek coughed and said as he glanced at the menu, looking at Stiles, “To be honest, I am craving a good burger. Can you make two of them, all the works, with some fresh french fries? Extra mayo and mustard.”

The man called Boyd smiled and nodded, and said, “No problem. Coming right up. Pleased to meet you, Stiles,” and left.

Stiles stared after him and then looked at Derek and couldn’t help but ask, “Wait…you’re telling me that _that’s_ the owner?” Derek nodded. “Dude looks like he throws out linebackers from bars for a living, and you’re saying that he’s the owner and the head chef of the best restaurant in the city?”

Derek nodded a second time and then leaned in and said, “Yep. Now, Stiles, tell me more about this bet.”

* * *

Three weeks later, and Stiles was wondering why the hell Derek was still dating him. The one date hadn’t been enough to convince his friends, so Derek had insisted that they continue dating for authenticity. However, neither Scott nor Isaac believed him. Still. Even after he’d shown them countless pictures of the two of them on dates and in affectionate, romantic situations, both of his idiot friends still thought that he was lying to them and that Derek was somehow in on it.

It kind of pissed him off, knowing that they weren’t entirely wrong.

So, Derek continued to date him, even though Stiles had suggested that they break it off, because he was certain that nothing was going to convince them, so they might as well end it now. But Derek insisted on still dating him. Again, knowing better than to look too closely at the best thing that had ever happened to him, he gladly complied and let Derek meet him for lunch, and pick him up to take him to not only nice restaurants, but also to food trucks and on long walks in Central Park.

It still felt a bit surreal, but he was learning to get used to it. But not _too_ used to it, he reminded himself. This was for a bet.

Stiles wasn’t under any delusions about how Derek viewed the whole situation: he was extra touchy and flirty when Isaac and Scott were around, but when it was just the two of them, he was more casual and treated it almost like a business arrangement.

On occasion, he was able to make Derek laugh, and when it happened, it was like seeing sunshine in a person. The first time it had happened, he had told him a stupid joke, a pun of all things, and he’d watched in amazement as Derek had lit up the room with a blinding white smile and that was when he’d discovered that Derek had the most adorable front teeth. He hadn’t said a word about it, though, managing to bite his tongue, and instead enjoyed it while it lasted.

It was Sunday, just after eleven in the morning, and Derek had somehow convinced him to go to the park with him…for a _run._

Stiles groaned as he tried to keep up with Derek’s effortless pace and saw the exasperated look the older man shot over his shoulder at him as he said, “I’m barely going fast, Stiles. I thought you used to play lacrosse?” and Stiles immediately retorted, “ _Used_ to, emphasis on _used_ to, Derek.”

He stopped and bent over at the waist, his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

“I’m a natural sprinter and wasted over long distances,” he finally managed to get out, and Derek snorted and retorted, “Okay, there, Gimli. C’mon, only two more miles, then we can go get lunch,” and Stiles gaped.

“Hold up, did you just say _miles?_ Uh, no, not happening. I don’t think I can even make it two more _steps_ ,” and he stumbled off the path and collapsed on the nearest bench. “You go on without me,” he said, waving a hand in Derek’s direction. “I’ll just stay here and recover,” and Derek rolled his eyes and walked over and offered a hand to him.

“Stiles. Get up. You can do it.”

He looked at Derek’s hand and then looked back up at him…and then reluctantly took his hand and let himself be pulled back up to his feet, quickly saying, “Okay, fine, but if I die, I am _haunting_ your ass, dude,” and Derek laughed and replied, “Duly noted.”

They took back off down the path.

By some miracle, he made it two more miles. Personally, Stiles attributed it to the fact that he’d been behind Derek nearly the whole time, having quite a nice view of his… _ass_ ets. Plus, Derek was wearing shorts that hit him at mid-thigh, and that was even more incentive for him to keep going forward.

Seeing where they were at the end of their run, Stiles suggested, “Wanna go to my place and shower and change?”

Derek nodded and it was decided. They made it up to the penthouse, and just as Stiles stripped off his shirt, he suddenly found himself pinned against his own bedroom door, all six foot two of Derek pressed up against his front and his breath on his lips.

“I can’t do this anymore. I…I…can I…can I kiss you?” he breathed out, and Stiles, again, not questioning what was happening, nodded, and then lips were on his and more clothes were being taken off and, just as Derek was about to drag him into his own bedroom, Stiles managed to pull back just enough to ask, “Hey, is this…is this real? I mean, you’re not doing this for some bet, are you?” and Derek shook his head and answered breathlessly, “It’s real,” and that was enough for him.

They tumbled to the mattress and Stiles was a goner.

* * *

It had been another week, and Stiles was lazing around in bed on a Saturday morning, Derek asleep next to him, staring at the older man’s profile. Okay, so as much as he couldn’t stand his friends sometimes, they just might have helped him make the best damn decision of his life.

He stretched, enjoying the feel of the sunlight on his back and reached out and ran a hand down Derek’s arm, where it was lying on the pillow next to his head.

If someone had told him four weeks ago that he would be in bed next to the man of his dreams, he would have called them crazy and laughed at them, but now he just marveled at the fact that he had a stupidly hot boyfriend and a good job…even though he could still replace his friends, and probably should, his life was pretty damn good.

Derek slowly woke up and blinked sleepily at him as he said, “Good morning. What time is it?”

Stiles arched his neck and grabbed his phone and answered, “Uh…seven. So, too early.” He curled himself back into Derek, wrapping an arm around his waist and then said, “Hey, how about we don’t leave the bed, today? It’s Saturday, you can call in sick to work, get Braeden to cover your shift,” but Derek shook his head.

“Braeden’s already working my shift,” he said, “Because I have to be somewhere else, anyway, this evening.”

He pressed a quick kiss to Stiles’ lips and then rolled out of bed, stark naked, and then headed toward the bathroom, while Stiles watched him leave. That was the one thing that he hadn’t told Stiles. In the few weeks that they had been together, Stiles had become aware of the fact that Derek only worked about fifteen hours a week at the bar, not nearly enough to own the car he had, and he knew that the man had another job that he hadn’t told him about. He’d never seen Derek’s apartment, either.

Of course, he had come up with several theories, one of which involved the CIA and Derek being a covert operative, which he was totally cool with, but he knew that it was probably something much more mundane, like he worked a job that he was embarrassed about and didn’t want to talk about it.

Stiles had been respectful and hadn’t pushed, but he would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that it got under his skin that he didn’t know what his boyfriend really did for a living.

“Where do you have to be this afternoon?” he asked, stretching across the rest of the bed, breathing in the pillow, soaking in Derek’s scent. “I mean, if you’re not working at the bar tonight, then what are you doing that’s so important that you can’t invite me?”

Derek poked his head out of the bathroom, his hair disheveled and looking adorable as he said, “And when did I say you weren’t invited?”

Stiles perked up.

“Hold up…you mean I _am_ invited?” he asked, sitting up in the middle of the messy sheets. “Wait, does this mean I get to find out your secret? Wait, no, let me guess,” he quickly added, ignoring the way Derek rolled his eyes and ducked back into the bathroom, and then said, “Oh, I know! You’re like Bruce Wayne and are some sort of millionaire and are about to introduce me to all of your rich friends…”

He heard Derek chuckle and say, “Not too far off, actually,” and Stiles laughed.

“Okay, fine! Don’t tell me! See if I care.”

He finally got out of bed and went and joined Derek in the bathroom. Sharing a shower saved water, after all. When they were finally done, forty minutes later, and had dried off and meandered their way back to Stiles’ kitchen, Derek said, “You _will_ have to wear nice clothes. Suit pants and a jacket, but no tie, if you don’t want to,” and Stiles’ eyebrow arched.

“Oh, really? Color me intrigued,” he said, getting up on his toes and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Will you be wearing a suit, too?”

Derek smiled.

“Yep.”

Stiles grinned.

“Then it’ll be worth it.”

* * *

That evening, Stiles was even more confused as they pulled up to an art gallery, once again Derek dropping his keys off with a valet who looked all too eager to park the Camaro for him. Derek grabbed Stiles’ hand in his and lead him inside, where there were at least a hundred people milling around in a massive, white-walled space, beautiful landscape paintings on the wall, faint music coming from hidden speakers.

Stiles barely had time to take it all in when an extremely attractive blonde approached them at a brisk walk, wearing a plunging, dark blue satin number and impossibly high, black stilettos.

“Derek!” she said, sounding relieved. “Thank god, you made it.” She reached out and tugged at his jacket, brushing off imaginary dust and straightening his already straight collar and said, “Okay, you have Worldview, Design Media, and CNN, all here to get some short, ten minute interviews, and then you have to go and get us some funding from these rich idiots. Now, remember,” she tugged at his jacket a second time, unnecessarily, “Smile! It’s how we keep this company running,” she added, patting a hand to his cheek.

Derek quickly interrupted her.

“Erica, this is Stiles. My date.” He gave her a pointed look and her face lit up.

She turned to Stiles and put a hand on his shoulder and said, “Oh, he’s told me all about _you,_ Stiles. Can I just send a thank you basket to your friends, Scott and Isaac, for making this happen?” He didn’t know how to respond to that, but it didn’t matter, because she quickly said, “We need to get some good photos of you two while you’re here. No posed ones, of course, but ones that look like we just so _happened_ to be taking a photo of something else, but we caught you two holding hands or whispering to each other in the background. That way, we keep your mysterious reputation intact,” and Stiles felt lost.

“Okay, let’s get going!”

She turned and walked away just as quickly as she spoke, and Stiles stared after her, feeling like he’d just been hit by a—

“Hurricane Erica,” Derek remarked, turning to Stiles and putting his hands in his. “She’s my assistant and absolutely essential in keeping my identity intact.”

Stiles gaped for a moment…but then he said, “Hold up…assistant? She looks like she’s a freakin’ Victoria’s Secret model, except hotter, and everyone here looks like they should be in magazines and movies and…oh god,” he finally realized. “You’re famous, aren’t you?”

Derek chuckled and shook his head.

“No, not exactly,” and then finally explained, “You said millionaire, earlier. You were close. It’s billionaire. I’m the silent founder of Alpha-Omega Technologies.”

Stiles gaped. Nearly all of the tech in his apartment, as well as several apps on his phone, were made by Alpha-Omega Tech. He just stared at the man that he thought was a humble bartender, with maybe a weird job that paid him good money…and found that he couldn’t formulate a response. He knew for a _fact_ that the company was worth about ten billion dollars…and he was dating the creator of the company that he had read about once or twice, but that no one knew a thing about. He was famous for being _not_ famous and completely unknown to the public. No one knew what he looked like or what his real name was besides the last name of Hale because he had a social media blackout…

…And now Stiles knew a _lot_ of intimate details about him, from his inseam, to his favorite type of eggs and favorite sports teams (omelets and the Mets), all the way down to the fact that he made the sweetest sounds when Stiles went down on him…but he’d never asked his last name.

Oh…god. He felt a surge of panic in the back of his throat, but Derek seemed to see it in his eyes and quickly reassured him.

“Hey, hey, hey, calm down,” he said in a hushed tone, stepping in towards him and running his hands up Stiles’ upper arms, and Stiles snapped out in a quiet but panicked tone, “Calm down? Never, in the _history_ of being asked to calm down has _any_ one, _any_ where, ever calmed down! I am dating and currently sleeping with…” He glanced around the room and then hissed out, “…one of the richest men in the world! And you expect me to calm down? I, Derek, I…”

He gasped for air, and Derek gently ran his hands up to his shoulders and guided him over to a corner and then pressed in close to him and whispered in his ear, “Breathe, Stiles, breathe,” and then he added softly, “I wanted to tell you, but I wanted to wait until I knew I was serious about you. Can you understand that?”

Stiles slowly brought his eyes back up to Derek’s and swallowed.

Yes. He could completely understand that.

And then he said…

“Serious? About…about me?” Derek nodded. “Wait, do you really mean that?” he asked, unable to keep the pleading tone from his voice.

Despite how head over heels he was in love with the guy, he didn’t want to jinx what was probably the best thing to ever happen to him…but then Derek nodded a second time and answered, “Yes, I really mean it. Now, I know you’re still getting over the shock,” he said, slowly leading him back from the corner, gently tugging on his hand, “But I was hoping that you might be able to get over it pretty quick because I have to go and do stupid stuff, like schmooze for my company. Will you be okay with Erica?”

Stiles looked over to where she was flashing a bright smile at the man that he’d met on his and Derek’s first date, Boyd, who was wearing a dark blue suit with a gray silk shirt, and he gulped. She was intimidating, no question about it, but if it meant that she would be keeping people from asking questions, then he was fine with it.

“Uh, yeah, sure, okay, I guess,” he finally managed to stagger out, and then grabbed Derek’s arm as he headed towards two men who looked suspiciously like recognizable faces from the cover of tech magazines, and said, “Will she keep them from, you know…mobbing me?”

Derek chuckled and leaned in and whispered into his ear, “She’ll eat them alive, I promise,” and then pressed a kiss to his temple, just like their first date and Stiles suddenly felt completely reassured.

He watched as Derek walked away, enjoying the view of how the material clung to his legs and…other parts.

Erica was suddenly by his side and she shot him a smirk and said, “He _is_ a beautiful man. You have very fine taste, Stiles Stilinksi. Now, you are going to stay with me,” she added, tucking her right arm into his left and gently steering him towards one of the artworks on the wall. “One thing Derek knows how to do is handle himself. So, I am in charge of making sure that nothing happens to you and that you are in one piece for him at the end of the evening.”

Stiles smiled and asked, “When will he be done with those interviews?”

Erica looked up at him through her long lashes and answered, “Oh, no more than an hour, tops. He knows how to give them exactly what they want while keeping them in line,” she added with a mischievous grin, shooting a look back over her shoulder at Derek. “You can keep me company while we admire the artwork and chat with the artist…”

“Who’s the artist?” he asked, looking up at the breathtaking landscape on the wall in front of them: a forest at night, with shadows that looked like wolves weaved through it.

Erica smiled and said, “That would be Lydia Martin,” and just as she spoke a redhead entered their field of vision, wearing a modest, black A-line dress that hit just above her knees and tapered black heels, and Stiles knew without question that she was the artist…but there was something about her that looked incredibly familiar and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. His suspicion that she was the artist was confirmed when Erica let go of his arm and walked over the redhead and shouted, “Lydia!”

The two of them hugged, and as soon they pulled back, Lydia walked over to him and shook his hand and said, “Thank god, you came into Derek’s life, Stiles Stilinski.”

Stiles felt awkward: it felt as though everyone in Derek’s life knew who he was, and he felt bad for not knowing who any of them were.

As if she detected his worry, she said, softly squeezing his hand between both of her perfectly manicured ones, “Don’t worry, we won’t bite. We’re just good friends of Derek’s who have been trying to get him to date for _years,_ and you are an absolute godsend.”

Stiles smiled, feeling slightly sheepish, but replied, “Hey, somebody’s gotta keep him in line,” and Lydia laughed and said, “Oh, I _definitely_ like you! C’mon, let me show off and brag about the rest of my artwork,” and that was how Stiles found himself sandwiched between the two most stunning women at the party.

He kept Derek in his peripheral as much as he could, and at one point he was certain that Derek saw his situation and was trying very hard not to laugh at him, as he was in the middle of an interview with someone who looked remarkably like Anderson Cooper. Stiles was tense for the first few minutes, but then realized that both of the girls had the same type of messed up sense of humor that Derek had, and he soon had them laughing nearly non-stop, and he didn’t care who stared at them.

He was vaguely aware of some flashes going off near him, but he brushed it off as unimportant. He figured it was better to ignore it.

At one point, Erica leaned in and whispered in his ear, “You’re a pro at this, Stiles,” and he felt his face flush, but was secretly pleased. He was mostly trying to impress Derek, he wasn’t gonna lie.

About an hour later, Derek finally joined them, walking over to them, adjusting his jacket as he did, and then stopped in front of them with an arched eyebrow and said, “Ladies, if you don’t mind, can I please have my boyfriend back?” and both of the girls smiled at him.

Lydia walked up to him and swatted him on the arm and said with fond affection and a mocking threat in her tone, “Derek Hale, you better keep this one! If you don’t, then I’ll take him,” and Derek glared at her. She just grinned right back at him and Stiles suddenly knew what it was like to be a flank steak on the floor between two wolves.

Trying to break the tension, Stiles said, “Hey, I don’t know about you, but I could go for a drink. Champagne, anyone?”

Derek’s glare softened as he turned his eyes back to him and he said, “That sounds great.”

Derek took up Lydia’s absent spot on Stiles’ right as Erica peeled off from his left, and said, “Hey, they didn’t drive you nuts, right? I mean,” he patted his arm, “I know how those two are, I grew up with them, after all,” and Stiles did a double take at hearing that. He’d grown up with them? Like…childhood friends? Not noticing Stiles’ reaction, Derek continued to talk. “If Erica is a hurricane, then Lydia is a tornado. Forces of nature that just happen, and you can’t do anything to stop them, you just gotta ride it out.”

He chuckled again, and finally Stiles asked, “Did they grow up in Beacon Hills, too?” and Derek nodded.

“Yeah. Both at the same private school as me. Probably why you don’t recognize them,” Derek added, obviously realizing where Stiles’ line of questioning was going. He then commented, “You might recognize Lydia’s last name. Her mom, Mrs. Martin, taught at Beacon Hills High School; English,” and Stiles’ eyes went wide as he finally realized why Lydia looked familiar.

“Holy shit,” he breathed out and heard Derek chuckle next to him. “I had her as homeroom for two years! Derek,” he turned and tapped on his chest with the back of his hand, “We were so close to knowing each other without it ever happening! I mean, what are the chances?”

He smiled that devastating smile of his and said, “Pretty slim, I know. How about we get that champagne?”

Stiles nodded.

Heck yeah, they were getting champagne.

* * *

The next morning, he woke up in his bed, this time with Derek sprawled on top of him, and he smiled. Last night had been one of the best nights of his life. Not only had he found out all about Derek’s real job, but he got the chance to listen to his two best friends go on and on about what Derek was like growing up.

They had ended up at Lydia’s studio apartment, just upstairs from the art gallery, and Derek had hidden his face in shame as Lydia had told Stiles about the time that he’d ripped his pants while on a double date with her and two guys named Jackson and Danny, both of which Stiles knew from his own high school.

Stiles had then discovered that Lydia was also close friends with Scott’s girlfriend, Allison, and had known her for years.

“Small world,” he’d remarked, and Lydia had grinned back at him and replied, “But it’s a pretty damn great one, don’t you think?” and Stiles had nodded right back at her and agreed. Small world, but a damn great one, just like she said. He could get used to it, that was for sure.

He reluctantly dragged himself out of bed, throwing on Derek’s shirt from the night before, letting it drape over his boxers, and then padded into the kitchen to make the two of them a late breakfast.

The first thing he noticed was that Scott and Isaac were there. The second thing he noticed was that they had the tv on.

Well…shit. Stiles glanced at the clock and realized that it was just after eleven, so it made sense that they were there. He silently prayed that Derek didn’t wake up, because he knew his friends would accuse him of staging the whole thing to make it seem like that they were dating, and he was _really_ getting tired of defending himself to those idiots. Instead, he ignored them as he pulled out a package of bacon from the fridge, a pan from the cupboard, and turned on the stove.

Sunday morning brunch sounded good.

Scott gave him a once over and said, sounding smug, “Late night, Stiles? Lemme guess, another ‘date’ with Derek Hale,” he said mockingly, sharing an amused grin with Isaac.

Stiles wasn’t in the mood to argue and so honestly replied, “Actually, yeah. He’s asleep in my room, right now, so if you two could keep it down, that’d be great.” They snickered, and so Stiles added, “You know what, I’m really getting tired of your attitude about this. Derek and I have been dating for six weeks, and, oh yeah, _fucking_ for about the last two weeks!” He then gestured with the spatula in his hand and exclaimed, “And you know what? I am over the moon about this guy! He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and, oh yeah, just so happens to be the owner of Alpha-Omega Technologies, so you two can go kiss my ass, alright?!”

Isaac burst into laughter and just about fell off the barstool on the other side of the counter and managed to gasp out, “Dude, seriously! I mean, the dating was a stretch, but now you’re claiming that the guy is some sort of secret billionaire? Just how stupid do you think we are?”

Stiles was about to say something, but then saw a familiar face appear on the tv and quickly said, “AO, turn the volume up,” and his voice-activated system turned the volume up on the television and Stiles smugly watched the color drain from his friends’ faces as a photo of him and Derek appeared on the screen that was obviously from the night before, Derek with his hand resting against Stiles’ lower back and his lips to his ear, smiling wide as Stiles stared back at him.

And from the television, they heard the female news anchor say…

“..and in other news, it looks as though the reclusive founder of Alpha-Omega Tech, Derek Hale, has finally let himself step into the spotlight and out of obscurity in a grand way, as an act of support for artist, and long-time close family friend, Lydia Martin, who had her grand opening at her new gala on Ninth yesterday evening. He was seen in the intimate company of one we can now identify as local celebrity, Stiles Stilinski, known for his hefty charitable donations to the Brothers and Sisters of America Foundation…”

She kept on talking, and Stiles smirked as Scott and Isaac looked at the screen and then back at Stiles…

…and then Scott stammered out, sounding sincerely apologetic, “Holy shit, man, I feel horrible. We…we didn’t think that you had a chance with him! God, we’re, we’re so sorry, man!”

Isaac looked at him wide-eyed and then said, “When you said that he was in your bedroom…you weren’t joking, were you?” and Stiles shook his head as he flipped the bacon in the pan, and they both looked at him, shared a glance with each other, and then Isaac said, “I guess we’ll, you know…just go, for now. Uh, text us when you want us to come over?”

Stiles nodded and said loudly as they headed for the door, “Thanks for all your support, guys!”

He chuckled as they left as quickly as they possibly could, and then smiled when he saw Derek emerge from his room, rubbing sleep from his eyes, wearing nothing but his black boxer briefs.

“Was that the dynamic duo?” he groggily asked, and Stiles nodded. “You should really revoke their key privileges,” he added as he stepped behind Stiles and wrapped his arms around his waist, pressing his head into the crook of his neck, placing a soft kiss on his jaw.

Stiles made a sound of agreement and then said, “Yeah, maybe my tech-savvy boyfriend can do something about my security. What do you think?”

Derek snorted and squeezed him lightly and remarked, “Fix it yourself, local celebrity.”

He placed another kiss on him, but slightly further down than before, and Stiles quickly said, “Hey, hey! Do you want your boyfriend to have grease burns all up and down his front? I’m cooking dangerous food here,” and Derek’s hands slipped to Stiles’ hips as he muttered into his shoulder, “Stop cooking and there won’t be a problem,” and Stiles' breath caught as one of Derek’s hands slid down the front of his boxers.

He quickly dropped the spatula and stepped away from the stove and gasped out, “Derek…kitchen isn’t exactly the…. _safest,_ ” his voice hit a new pitch as Derek got a firmer grip on him, “place for us to be doing this…”

“Don’t care.”

Gritting his teeth and swallowing, Stiles reached down and gently, but firmly, removed Derek’s hand from its very pleasant location and turned in his arms to look him in the eye. Derek pouted and that just about did him in. God, that lower lip was calling to him, but he swallowed a second time and straightened his spine.

“Derek.”

“What?”

“We need to eat.”

Just as he opened his mouth to protest, his stomach grumbled and Stiles had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. His boyfriend looked equal parts amused and frustrated, but finally rolled his eyes and pulled back slightly, conceding to the point that both Stiles' and his stomach was making.

Stiles went back to cooking and then served them both some eggs and bacon.

As he slid Derek’s plate in front of him, he said, “You know, I do have _one_ question about something that happened when I first asked you out.” Derek hummed around his fork, so Stiles took it as a sign to continue. “When I asked you out, I never told you my name. In fact,” he added, leaning back slightly on his barstool, “I wasn’t even a regular at the bar, at that point, and you’d never even served me directly. So…how did you know my name?”

Derek’s mouth stopped moving mid chew, and Stiles watched, curious, as he swallowed and then slowly looked over at him.

He licked his lips.

Finally, he answered, “I, uh…might have been following your career, a bit,” and Stiles suddenly grinned, looking all too smug as he replied, “Wait, are you telling me that Derek Hale, CEO and creator of Alpha-Omega Tech…had a crush on me before we met?” Derek ducked and was unable to look him in the eye, but Stiles then reached over and brought his eyes up to his with a finger on his chin and quickly added, “Hey, I’m flattered, babe.”

He pressed a small kiss to the corner of his lips and then remarked, “Just think, neither of us would have made a move if it wasn’t for my two idiot friends,” and Derek rolled his eyes.

“Don’t remind me,” he drawled, stabbing at his eggs, and Stiles laughed a second time.

Stiles turned on his stool, again, and then said, “You know at this point that I love you, right? That, even though we haven’t been dating all that long, I can’t imagine my life without you in it?” and Derek looked up at him, eggs long forgotten as he dropped his fork and reached over and put a hand on Stiles’ jaw.

“I love you, too, Stiles.”

They leaned in and shared a sweet kiss, and then, as they pulled back, Stiles whispered, “My first name’s actually Mieczyslaw. It’s Polish, and I don’t expect you to be able to pronounce it, but since we’re coming clean about names and secrets, it seems only fair,” and Derek chuckled.

“It just rolls off the tongue,” he snarked and Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Okay, now I’m regretting telling you,” he said, and Derek quickly recanted, “Hey, hey, I’m just teasing. I like it. But I’m still gonna call you Stiles…”

“Good.”

They went back to their breakfasts and as they finished up, Stiles cleaning their dishes, he turned and asked in a serious tone, “Last night…I have to ask…did you come forward because of me? I mean, you’ve stayed silent and hidden for years and I feel like it’s my fault that you exposed yourself, all because of a bet,” but Derek shook his head.

He reassured him, saying, “No, Stiles, it was nothing like that.” He stood up and pulled him into an embrace, his arms caging him on either side as he pressed him to the counter. “I was always planning on making my image public at Lydia’s showing. I just super lucky and met you before that happened. Now, even if people _do_ know that I’m insanely rich and bartend on the weekends, no one will try a thing because I’m already taken,” he added with a smirk.

Stiles smiled. He then reached up and pulled him into a kiss, both of them ignoring the suds that ended up in Derek’s hair as he slid a soapy hand up the back of his neck.

He could live with that.

\--

**THE END**


End file.
